Walking
by Bad Mum
Summary: The war is over, and Draco Malfoy is no longer sure where he belongs.


_For the lovely and talented Cordelia McGonagall, for her birthday._

 **Walking**

Draco was doing a lot of walking these days. It was one way of getting out of the mausoleum his house had become, with his father sitting in the big chair in his study, an untouched glass of wine in front of him, waiting for the knock on the door that never came, and his mother drifting from room to room as if she had lost something but could not remember what. Draco had nowhere to go and no one he wanted to see, so he went to places he had never before, places where the chances of someone recognising him were slim. Muggle London was the best for that: no one knew him there.

By his birthday at the beginning of June, he had been into the city so often that it no longer felt foreign to him. Instead of walking blindly, as he had for the first few weeks, he was beginning to look around him, to see the people not just as mindless Muggles, but as individuals, human beings not so very different from himself and those who had been his friends. He wasn't even sure if he had any of those any more. He was barely sure who he was himself – how could he be sure of other people?

Today he found himself in a museum with huge pillars, crammed with sculptures and masks and pottery and mummies and golden cups and earthenware plates and so much more. He was standing in front of a glass case containing a sculpture of a cat, sitting still and aloof and self-contained. The label said something about the ancient Egyptians worshipping cats, but Draco knew from History of Magic that there was more to it than that. The ancient Egyptian priests had been powerful wizards, and the temple cats, revered by the ordinary people, were their familiars and were at the very heart of their magic. But the cats remained cat-like, accepting food and water, even accepting worship, as their due without giving any part of themselves away.

Draco felt that he had been rather like that himself. He looked at the marble cat for a long time, until a noisy class of Muggle schoolchildren clutching clipboards interrupted his reverie. Shaking himself, becoming truly aware of his surroundings, he realised that his hands were balled into fists at his sides and that his eyes were wet. He didn't want to live like this any longer. During the war, he had felt as if he belonged, as if he was a part of something bigger and more important than himself. Now he knew he did not truly belong anywhere.

But what to do about it?

Slowly, he made his way out of the museum. The street outside was busy with pedestrians and traffic, everyone oblivious to him. This was not his world. He found a small café and sat in a corner, a cup of green tea untouched in front of him and thought. After nearly an hour, he stood up and left, looking straight ahead, knowing now where he must go.

In the Leaky Cauldron, he felt all eyes on him, though maybe it was his imagination. He barely knew what was real and what was not these days. In the Alley, he found a quiet corner to Apparate from. The graveyard was quiet, yew-shaded and cool, the new graves barely settled, and unmarked as yet. Draco pulled out his wand and conjured lilies to place on the grave of his cousin, who he had not known, and of her husband, who he had known and despised. He stood looking at the grave for a few minutes before turning to go.

The house was easy to find, standing on its own on the outskirts of the village. It was smaller than the house where he had grown up, and in the past he would have looked down on the occupants for that. Not now. Now he knew that they were his equals, as well as being his nearest relatives on earth apart from his parents. Taking a deep breath, he rang the bell. It clanged somewhere inside, and he heard a baby wailing, a woman's voice, and then the sound of footsteps in the hall.

The woman who opened the door, a baby clutched to her chest was familiar and yet not familiar, and looked older than he knew she must be. She gaped at him in astonishment, holding the baby tightly to herself.

"You?" she gasped. "You, here?"

Draco bent his head. He was not used to being a supplicant or to apologising, but he knew he must learn to do both if he were to find a place in this new world.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It's me. I wonder if I might come in, Aunt? Just for a few minutes. I'd like to see the baby. I'd like to see you."

She looked at him for what seemed a very long time before nodding and standing back to let him in.

"Come in," she said. "I'll make tea."


End file.
